Please Don't Leave Me
by Anovia
Summary: "You tell me to fuck off as if it were hello! I think you've made your feelings pretty clear! You know you've never said you that love me? NOT ONCE SINCE WE'VE BEEN TOGETHER!" Antonio yelled for probably the first time in his life. The Italian froze momentarily. He'd never actually heard Antonio yell before. He was usually so calm and easygoing.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a based off of P!nk's song, Please Don't Leave Me. There are no song lyrics in this. There should be like one or two more chapters. I tried really hard, and I hope you like it.**

**Warning: Scary Spain.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or Hetalia, if I did, there would be a lot more canon shippings.**

* * *

Antonio walked into the kitchen towards the man cutting tomatoes. He leaned over his boyfriend's shoulder and turned the Italian's head to pull him into a kiss, then proceeded to kiss down his neck.

"Nhh, stop it bastard." Antonio halted his motions immediately and lifted his head to get a good view of the other man.

"Oh come on, Lovi. The tomatoes can wait," the Spaniard cooed.

"Don't call me that," the brunette complained. "And it's not the tomatoes. I just want you to stop kissing me," Lovino explained, going back to chopping up the red fruits.

"Why?" The older man asked, squinting his eyes and taking a step back.

"Why? I don't need a fucking reason! I simply don't want you to kiss me!" screamed the Italian. Antonio calmly walked over to the living room and sat down on the couch across from the television, placing his hands on his face before running them through his hair. He took a deep breath and stared at his boyfriend briefly.

"Let me ask you something, do you like me?"

"What do you mean?" the Italian inquired haphazardly, not really listening to the question, but focusing on the task at hand, cutting tomatoes.

"Do you even like me?" the Spaniard asked louder, stressing the pronouns.

"What? Where did that even come from?" the brunette inquired, putting down the large knife and turning to face his lover.

"Where did that even come from?" Antonio laughed silently to himself.

_It's amazing how you can hurt me so much and not even realized it. I thought I was supposed to be the oblivious one…_

"Every time I kiss you I have to deal with some sort of opposition. I want to feel like you like me, but do you? You like me, don't you?" the Spaniard asked with real pain in his eyes and words.

"What the Hell kind of question is that?"

"One that you apparently still can't answer!" The elder man said, anger beginning to well up inside him.

"I-I'm not a girl. I don't need to fucking preach to you about every feeling I ever have!"

"What feelings? Hmm? The only emotions you ever show are anger."

"Excuse me?"

"You tell me to fuck off as if it were hello! I think you've made your _feelings _pretty clear! You know you've never said you that love me? NOT ONCE SINCE WE'VE BEEN TOGETHER!" Antonio yelled for probably the first time in his life. The Italian froze momentarily. He'd never actually heard Antonio yell before. He was usually so calm and easygoing.

"You say it enough for the both of us. It doesn't even matter," Lovino said in an effort to change the topic.

"It doesn't matter," Antonio mumbled quietly to himself. "I'm glad that my feelings _don't matter_!"

"That's what I meant! You're acting like a fucking girl! Melodramatic much?"

Antonio stomped into their room, took a duffle bag out of the closet, and tossed it onto the bed. "Melodramatic?" He thought aloud. He yanked the drawers open so hard that they came out of the commode. He dumped the clothing into the bag, and then threw each empty tray wall. "Melodramatic?" he said, in between the sound of wood colliding with the wall and smashing into the floor. "That's what you call it?!" the Spaniard hollered, his anger building exponentially. He left the bedroom with the bag strapped on his left shoulder.

"What's the bag for?" Lovino asked, trying to change the topic.

"I'm leaving. That is, unless you can give me a reason to stay." The Spaniard put down the bag and stared at the man in the doorway. Lovino stared blankly back at him. Antonio sighed. "That's what I thought. I don't know why I thought you could ever change," the latter chuckled to himself solemnly. "I wonder how Gilbert will react when he finds out he was right."

"Go ahead. Leave you bastard. I don't fucking need you."

"Amazing. We've been together, what? Fourteen years? You still think I'm replaceable."

"That's because you are! Everyone can be replaced! Everyone's going to leave sooner or later."

"Maybe they wouldn't leave if you didn't push them away! But no, you could never do that. That would involve you accepting that you have feelings for _other _people."

"I don't care about other people! I don't give a shit about anyone. Not you, not anyone!"

Antonio walked over to a table filled with pictures filled with them, Lovino and Antonio, happy. At least that's what the photo would've deceived any other person into believing and for the longest of times, it fooled Antonio too. He picked up the picture of them at prom. "I remember when I thought I could change you." He tightened his grip and broke the frame, tiny pieces of glass escaped from his fist. He took another picture into his hand as Lovino watched, too shocked to move. It was a picture of them at Francis and Arthur's wedding. "Everyone changes with time, but you." The frame exploded in the Spaniards hands. "Everyone moves on, but _you_." He lifted the picture of them in Spain.

"Don't!" Lovino cried, coming back to his senses.

"Why?! Why do you fucking care what happens to the pictures? You didn't even want to go to Spain, remember? You didn't give a damn about meeting my fucking family!" The photograph was hurled at the ground and glass erupted from the frame. Antonio looked at the last item on the small, circular table, Lovino saw it too. The Spaniard glared at the object. The glass tomato. The memories of that day washed over their minds as they stared at the item.

. . . .

"Can we go out to dinner tonight?"

"Why? We can eat in the dorm," stated fifteen year-old Lovino.

"I want to do something special tonight."

"Fine," the Italian agreed, however not before rolling his eyes. "But if you try anything funny, I'll make sure you regret it."

"Great!" Antonio cheered, pulling Lovino into a hug.

"Get the fuck off me! You know how I feel about PDA!"

"PDA? Those little electronic planner thingies?"

"Public Display of Affection, you _idiota_!"

"Sorry, I was just too happy, I couldn't help it," the Spaniard said shyly, head down, kicking the dirt.

That night, Antonio got them reservations at an Italian restaurant that Lovino had wanted to go to for the longest time. How Antonio had ever figured that out, he never knew. Dinner tasted wonderful, not that the two spent much time caring about the flavor. They were distracted by their laughing as they recounted what happened to them that day.

That was the day a full tomato was finally removed from the garden the two had started together at the beginning of the school year.

That was the day, their math teacher, Mrs. Hochiki, slipped on a banana, _while _explaining that tripping on a banana in real life was so unlikely it could be considered an impossibility.

That was the day, for the first time, Lovino didn't call him a tomato bastard.

That was the day, Antonio had to tell him how he really felt.

Antonio reached across the table and took Lovino's hand. The Italian didn't even protest, too busy going on about how in Chemistry, his equation wouldn't balance out and how the teacher put up the wrong subscript on the board.

"Who the fuck could've have gotten that? The whole time he was staring at the class like we were idiots for not getting realizing the mistake immediately. I'm sorry I didn't know the chemical formula for vinegar by heart, but who gives a fuck? Right?"

Antonio smiled at his lover.

"What?" Lovino asked, blushing under the Spaniard's gaze.

"Today, I went to the store, and I found this." He then placed a glass tomato on the table. "I couldn't help but buy it for you. I know how much you love tomatoes."

"Wow, this is actually not a terrible gift, but why?" the Italian asked examining the gift.

"Just because, I guess. I knew I wanted to give you something, the first time... the first time I told you that..."

"That what?" Lovino asked, looking into Antonio's eyes.

"I love you," he smiled. "I-I know you probably aren't ready to say it back, but I just had to tell you. I'm sorry."

"It's... It's okay. I-I actually... I-"

"Check sir," the waiter interrupted. Antonio placed the appropriate amount of money, plus a tip, in the black folder.

"Come on," the Spaniard said, ushering the brunette to follow him out.

They rode home on Lovino's motorcycle; it was a silent trip. Neither of them said a word.

While Antonio was getting ready for bed, the Italian moved the tomato around in his hands, inspecting it.

"I think I love you too," he whispered, not audible to anyone but himself.

"Did you say something?"

"Nothing, let's go to sleep... and thanks for the tomato." Lovino placed it on his nightstand as he walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

. . . .

Antonio grabbed the tomato, and its memories pierced his brain like a dagger. The happiness he used to feel, was replaced with anger and his grip tightened.

"Don't even think about it!" Lovino yelled, leaving the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron.

"This," Antonio began turning towards the Italian, who stopped walking once eye contact was made. "This was the biggest mistake!" The tomato went hurling into the kitchen wall.

"NOOO!" Lovino screamed fruitlessly. Antonio walked over the shards of broken glass to the kitchen where the last tomato had yet to be cut.

"Why?" Antonio laughed hysterically. "Why didn't I see it before?" He picked up the knife used to cut the other, already sliced, vegetables. "You care more about your fucking tomatoes!" he yelled as he stabbed the remaining tomato so violently that not only did its red juices fly everywhere, but the knife was inserted through the cutting board, into the counter itself. "Than me!"

"Calm down Antonio. You-you're scaring me," Lovino said shakily, taking a few step back.

"How?" he asked quietly. "How can I calm down," he began, storming over to the same table he just left a moment ago gripping it tightly, a tear silently falling running down his face. "When I've wasted fourteen fucking years of my life waiting for you!" Antonio chucked the table at the wall near the Italian's head.

The brunette recoiled a bit as he felt the vibration of the table being destroyed, but then the Spaniard's words hit him. "Wasted?" the Italian questioned. "WASTED?" He hollered at the top of his lungs. "Then by all means, leave!" He hollered not thinking about the consequences. "I'd hate to _waste _any more of your time. So get out!" He screamed, his vision blurred due to tears. "Get out! Get the fuck out! I never want to see you again!" Lovino ran into the guest room, locked the door, sunk to the floor hugging his knees, and began to cry.

_Do I really do that? It's only because I don't want to get hurt... It doesn't matter. He'll come back. He always comes back. He's probably not even going to leave._

Lovino fell asleep soon after running out of tears.

After a couple of hours, the Italian left the room. The entire house was strangely quiet. His heart broke a little when he saw that Antonio and most of his belongings were gone. The brunette had never noticed how big the house was, how much empty space there is. The thought made him sad.

_Don't worry, he'll come back. He always comes back. Stop acting like a girl._

Eventually, two months had gone by and not a word was to be heard from Antonio. Lovino walked towards the kitchen checking the oven time: _9:00 a.m._ He almost called out for the Spaniard to start making him coffee before painfully remembering what had happened.

_He's been gone before. He'll come back. _

Lovino reassured himself, trying to sound as certain as possible. He couldn't help but think of all the good times they had.

. . . .

It was winter and they'd decided to spend it together in Spain. They had found a peaceful park that was encompassed by snow. Antonio had just bought two large hot chocolates for them to drink. Lovino was holding the sheets that the Spaniard had brought for their so called picnic. While laying them out on the floor, the Italian barely spoke; the sight of his own breath disturbed him.

_We must look so weird, just sitting in the middle of the snow and snuggling under a large blanket while having warm drinks outside._

The Italian just watched as the older man took sips of his beverage, grinning and re-nesting his head on Lovino's afterwards. The brunette just loved to watch him smile, although he'd never admit to it. The Spanish man's smile was enough to cheer him up from even his worst of days; something about it warmed him straight down to his core. Of course, since he was with Antonio, this wordless comfort couldn't last forever; no matter how romantic or passionate the latter could be. While cuddling into the Italian the other must have forgotten what he was doing because his drink slipped right out of his hands and into Lovino's lap.

"What the fuck bastard?" the drink-drenched man yelled shooting up in pain from the searing heat emitting from the hot chocolate. "You couldn't go a fucking minute without fucking everything up?"

"I'm sorry Lovi. You can have my pants if you want."

"So then what? You walk around the street in your underwear and die of hypothermia? Is that what you want you mofo? No, keep your fucking pants; you'll just have to make it up to

me later."

"Okay Lovi," the elder sang happily.

_It's going to be quite the challenge to think of something for him to make it up with... He spoils me like I'm a girl._

"Well, I'm bored of this romance shit," Lovino said getting up.

"What are you doing?"

"This," Lovino said while revealing the snowball he had kept hidden and chucked it at his surprised boyfriend smiling. "Bastard."

"Then I must retaliate," the other said grinning widely. Instead of the normal response to being hit with snow, Antonio had something different planned. He swiftly got up and tackled the Italian to the ground. Laughing above him, smiling. A giant smile including teeth. A smile that could melt away anyone's worries and make them not want to live another day without this smile.

_I love him._

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**Did you like it? Did you cry? Please tell me in a review. **

**P.S. I cried, but then again, I was listening to Fix You by Coldplay... I'm not sure how someone could've not cried.**


	2. Chapter 2

...**Hey, I'm alive. Weird right? I really should be working on summer assignments. I have so much work it's not even funny. Anyway, I hate it when an author posts another chapter for a story that I loved too long after I've read it. Then I forget the entire first part, and have to reread everything. By then I don't want to read the fic anymore. (Even though this is probably what's going to happen to my other stories...) So I tried to get this to you as soon as possible. Read and review please.  
**

**Warning: Lovino curses a lot in this chapter. The words he uses in this chapter are worse than before (I think?)**

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When Lovino deemed his pasta ready to be eaten, he turned off the stove and began to set the table. The only sound to be heard was the clinking of silverware as they were set down onto the placemat. It didn't take that long to put everything in its proper place.

"Oi! Tomato bastard!" Lovino yelled. "Dinner's ready!" The silence provided an answer all its own. The memories of last month came flooding back into his mind, however the Italian didn't allow himself time to dwell on the subject. He took a slow breath and shifted his gaze upward to avoid the formation of tears. He gradually started to put away the second knife that was unneeded, the additional fork that was unwanted, the extra plate that as immaterial, the other glass that was extraneous. As he placed the spaghetti on his plate, Lovino's mind drifted towards the Spaniard, regardless of what he told himself.

_Who does the bastard think he is? Who stays with someone for 14 years then leaves? I knew I shouldn't have fallen for him. I shouldn't have ever spoken him. I wish I never met him._

. . . .

Lovino took in his surroundings and smiled inwardly to himself.

_High school, I can't believe I made it this far... I wonder if Grandpa Roma would be proud..._

The Italian barely had time to contemplate the thought when he noticed his frenemy quietly walking away.

"Where are you going?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are you sneaking off to?" The brunette asked again.

"I don't have to tell you," the British teen quipped as he glared towards the inquisitive Italian.

"Oh my God," Lovino realized, his face subconsciously breaking into a smile. "You're looking for him aren't you?"

"Shut up!"

"It's been a year since you've last seen him and you're already desperate for his attention."

"It's not like that!" Arthur protested.

"Sure it isn't. So where is he?"

"I'm not looking for him okay? I don't miss that frog and his inappropriate remarks."

"Right," Lovino stated, nodding his head in fake belief. "Where is he?"

"I don't know! It's not like I stalk the guy!"

"Okay, then where were you going?"

"To room number 712, and if he happens to be there, then there's nothing I can do about it."

"Keep telling yourself that." The Italian glanced at his watch. "I've got time to kill. Let's go and find out who lives in that random dorm that you randomly thought of."

"Let's," Arthur agreed.

It was only ten minutes of walking at most until they reached their destination. On the way there the two teens discussed the prospects of the year. They remembered times from their past and laughed at what they might do in their futures.

"I'm just happy that I don't have to deal with that Frog bastard," Lovino said, knocking on the door. "You should get used to it though, after all, we have room 710."

"What?" Arthur asked, whipping his head towards Lovino as the door opened.

"_Salut mon cher_. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

"Oi, Francis! Who's at the door?" asked an unfamiliar voice from the room. The teen in question walked towards the room entrance while he continued to speak. "If it's Bella again, tell her I meant it when I said we were through, no matter what she says."

"Why didn't you tell me that sooner?!" Arthur inquired, ignoring the presence of everyone but Lovino.

"Because you said you didn't know who lived here, remember?"

"Tell you what sooner?" Francis questioned.

"We're neighbors," Lovino smirked, but that didn't last long. A few moments later, a Spaniard appeared before them. He was shirtless, pants dangled at his waist so that the top of his boxers showed with perfectly tanned skin; the kind that you see in the commercials for beach vacations, but no one except movie stars have. He had green eyes-so green, you'd think the color originated from them-, chocolate brown hair that was disheveled in the most delicious of ways, and a grin that said, 'I know you're looking at me, but that's okay because I'm so handsome.' His nose was more sharp than round, and his cheekbones -God his cheekbones- they were almost as distractingly perfect as his lips. In short, he looked like a god, kicked out of Olympus on the premise of being too sexy.

Lovino could only watch as those two pink lips moved, not actually hearing a word they say. He simply watched as Francis and Arthur entered the dorm, while he stood and stared the Spaniard. He could only stare. Stare as the teen waved his hands in front of his face. Stare as the teen got closer to him. Stare as the teen's hands were on his shoulders shaking him back and forth. Stare as the brunette yelled something into the room. Stare as a kiss was planted on his own lips.

_A kiss? What the fuck is going on? Why the fuck am I letting this happen? Where the fuck am I? Who the fuck kisses somebody like that?_

Lovino finally broke out of his daze to slap the Spaniard across the face.

"Who the fuck does that!" Lovino screamed angrily, cheeks reddening.

Antonio stared wide-eyed at the Italian as if he forgot he was supposed to be in pain due to the severe confusion he was in. "You weren't moving, so I woke you up with a kiss."

"The fuck kind of logic is that?!"

"Would you have preferred if I just closed the door and left you outside?"

"Yes!"

"Oh," the Spaniard said dumbfounded. "Ok then." Antonio turned to enter the room and locked the door behind him.

_Did-did he just... What the fuck is wrong with guy?!_

Lovino pounded on the door loudly; he stood waiting outside tapping his foot impatiently.

_He just walked in. How far could he fucking be? _

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Lovino Vargas, and if you wouldn't mind telling me, I would like to know: WHY THE FUCK WOULD SLAM THE FUCKING DOOR IN MY FACE YOU DUMBASS?!"

"You said so."

Lovino stared at the Spaniard, flabbergasted. He had no idea how to respond to that, so he quipped back with the first thing that came into his mind. "That doesn't mean you should do it!"

"So I should ignore everything you say?"

"Yes!- wait. No. I mean..." _Fuck. Damn bastard talking me into a corner! _"I hate you!"

Antonio looked hurt at that remark. "Then why do you want to come into my room?"

After a good five minutes of silence, Antonio received a text. He glanced at his phone and then stepped completely out of the room. "Francis and Arthur are going to be umm, _busy,_ for a while. Since you seem to have a problem with my room, why don't we go to yours."

Lovino mumbled something that sounded like yes and unlocked the door a step away. His eyes grew wide with shock as a mountain of pasta ran into the hall. Antonio stared at the Italian with a look of curiosity. Lovino said nothing. He dropped his key and walked away, not daring to look back. He silently vowed to kill his brother the next time they met.

_Who the fuck makes him that much pasta? Who can even fucking eat that much?_

. . . .

Lovino sat on the couch with legs crossed Indian style. He was watching some random reality TV show, even though he hates them. At one point some random girl 'confessed' that she was carrying her ex's baby. Lovino watched confused, because he knew that those two characters hadn't slept together for some time, not that he was invested enough to care. Later, when it was revealed that the girl was indeed, not pregnant, Lovino couldn't help but turn around and say, "I knew it!" to no one. His face fell as he realized that he had no one to brag to. The Italian solemnly got up and turned off the television, in favor of taking a nap.

On his way upstairs, he heard the phone ring for the umpteenth time. It was Feliciano again; he could tell because his brother had a special ringtone. The Italian didn't feel like explain what happened between Antonio and himself just yet, so he let it ring. Even mentally saying the Spaniard's name was enough to sadden Lovino.

_I don't want him here anyway. I was fine on my own before and I'll be fine again. He left, so what? Everyone leaves._

. . . .

"Shhh, don't cry Lovino." Tears were streaming down the four year old's face as he stared at his grandfather.

"But where did mommy and daddy go? They promised to read me a story, grandpa! When they read me stories, they always use the funny voices!"

"Just go to sleep like Feliciano did. I'm sure they'll be back tomorrow."

"Ok, but then they owe me two stories!" The young Italian debated.

His parents never did come back to read him those two stories. They had skipped town for some unknown reason and left their twin sons in the care of the so called Grandpa Rome (his true name was Remulus Vargas, but he never cared enough to correct his grandchildren). It was only when Lovino turned seven, he fully understood the situation.

"They're never coming back are they?" Lovino realized.

"Don't say that! They promised to read me a bedtime story. They would never break a promise," Feliciano responded happily.

"That's right! They'll come back soon. I just know it," Grandpa Roma agreed with equally as much happiness.

"You don't know shit!" yelled a furious Lovino. "They're never coming back! That hate us," cried the Italian, water leaking out of the corner of his eyes. "You always say they're coming back. That soon enough they'll be back. Guess what? It's been three years! Three fucking years! They hate me, and they're never coming back because of it!" Lovino ran out of the living room and into his own. He jumped onto his bed and allowed the tears to soak up his pillow. Remulus calmly walked into the child's room and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"At least you have me," his grandfather smiled. "And I'm not going anywhere." Lovino looked up to listen to the elder man's words.

"Promise?" the child asked, unsure.

"I promise, now how about we go make some pasta ok?" Lovino's smile returned weakly as he attempted to believe the elder. He placed his hand in the older man's and they walked into the kitchen together.

The three spent five long years together, taking care of one another. Lovino almost believed that things would get better. That he could be happy if he really wanted, but the universe couldn't have that. Remulus died that same year. Ever since then, Lovino refused to get close to anyone. He slowly become jaded and cold to everyone he met as a defense mechanism. He sometimes envied how his brother was so nice and trusting all the time. Feliciano always seemed so happy, but Lovino couldn't afford to let go like that. He had to get a scholarship into a private high school and work odd jobs to pay for their livelihood. All Feliciano had to worry about was how much he wanted to smile, but that's all he should ever worry about. Lovino was older and it was his job to watch out for his brother. At least it was, until that stupid German showed up.

. . . .

Lovino looked down at his cereal, playing with his spoon, not really eating anything. The depressed man lazily got up to throw the rest of it away. He hadn't been eating lately, but he saw no reason to. Eating was just a way to keep you alive, something he didn't feel like he deserved to do anymore. He was almost at the trash can when he made a snap decision to chuck his bowl at the wall with all his might. It smashed into a million pieces, splattering milk and flakes all over the kitchen. The excitement of the ceramic explosion distracted the Italian for a moment, clearing his mind. But as the milk settled, he could feel all the pain rushing back with thoughts of the Spaniard. Lovino raked his hands through his hair and stared at the mess angrily.

_This house is fucking driving me crazy! I have to go out. I can't stay cooped up in this house anymore._

He grabbed his wallet out of his room and took the keys to his Vespa from a bowl by the door. The Italian locked the door behind him and took off, not going to anywhere in particular, just out. After a couple of minutes, he found himself stopping in front of a familiar Italian restaurant. His brother was standing in the doorway, a smile on his face.

"Hey! Lovino, I haven't seen you here in a while. You didn't find another Italian restaurant did you?" the brunette man laughed, greeting his brother with a hug.

"Of course I didn't find a new place, Feliciano," the Italian stated, pushing the younger away the hands and walking towards an empty chair by the window.

"Well then, what other reason would there be for disappearing for so long? No one's heard from you in months."

"What the fuck makes you think I wanted to talk to anyone? Eh?" Lovino took his seat and looked at his brother.

The younger male smiled and opted to change the subject. "So where's Antonio? You guys are usually attached by the hip. Is he sick? Did he go visit family?"

"For your information, I don't fucking know where he is. We don't do every fucking thing together okay?"

"Whatever you say," he shrugged. "I just wanted to know when you guy are going to get married. I definitely want to live long enough to go to that wedding. He didn't propose already, did he? He promised that if he proposed he would do it here, remember?" Feliciano looked down at his brother while he badgered him with questions. Lovino didn't hear them though. He was staring out the window, remembering the time the older Italian had mentioned.

. . . .

Antonio looked around the restaurant and smiled. "I love this place. It practically feels like home."

"Well, we come here enough," the Italian stated, rolling his eyes. "I think it would be cheaper to just pitch a tent in the back and live there."

"Can we Lovi? That would be amazing!" the Spaniard stated, already fantasizing about how it would be like to live there.

"Of course not _idiota_!"

Feliciano set down two menus and smiled at the males. "What can I get you?"

Antonio picked up his menu and looked through it.

"The fuck do you need the menu for? We've been here enough to know the meals by heart," the Italian said, glaring at his boyfriend. He would never admit it, but he loved the cute face his lover made when he was concentrating. He hid his smile with his own menu.

"You know the orders by heart? That's so cool!"

"It's not that big a deal, we've been coming here since forever." Lovino tried to ignore his blushing and raised the menu higher.

"How long have you guys been dating now?" the younger man interjected.

"Seven years, nine months, three weeks, and four days. Why?" the seemingly oblivious Spaniard responded. Both of the other males looked at him for a moment, before decided to not comment on the oddly specific number of days.

_He's been counting?_

"That's a long time," the older Italian admitted. "When are you going to get married already?"

"_Fratello_!" Lovino yelled, no longer able to hide the tomato red that had taken over his face.

"What? You guys have been together long enough. It only makes sense."

Antonio stared at his love. "I don't know when, but when I propose I definitely want it be in this restaurant."

"Is that a promise?" Feliciano laughed.

"¡_Si!_ You have my word," the Spaniard smiled.

_He wants to marry me? Not now, but someday. Married. _

Lovino smiled back at his boyfriend before finally giving his order.

. . . .

"You guys didn't get into another fight did you? I'm sure you'll work it out. Nothing can break up you two," Feliciano continued to rant.

"Fuck off! I don't need that _idiota_! I'm much better without that bastard anyway!" the Italian yelled before storming out.

Lovino rode home without looking back. The last thing we wanted to do was think about that tomato bastard. The Fates had another plan in mind though. After a measly few minutes of enjoying the solitude of his home, the brunette's phone rang. Absentmindedly, he answered, not even bothering to see who the caller was.

"Hello?" a familiar voice asked. Lovino practically heard his heart shatter. It sounded like glass and resonated in his mind. "Hello? Lovino?" He chuckled solemnly to himself.

_I never thought I could hate my own name so much. _

Tears began to build up in the corner of the Italian's eyes.

_I can't let him know that I care. I don't care!_

"What? Crawling back to me already?" he smirked.

"I just called because I need to pick up the rest of my stuff."

_Why do you need the rest of your stuff? You're coming back. You have to come back! _

"I don't give a fuck, come over whenever," the Italian lied. There was the sound of a car in the background.

_You're not leaving._

"Good, I'm out front, open the door." The line went dead.

_You can't be serious._

Lovino stared at the wood and the little silver handle. He trudged begrudgingly towards the door and opened it, surprised to see two people instead of one. "What's she doing here?" the Italian snapped.

"My girlfriend?" Antonio asked as if the answer were obvious. The question itself hurt Lovino like a knife to his heart. "You know Bella* right?"

_How do you have a girlfriend? How could you have moved on? Already? And that bitch? You're lying. There's no way... unless... were you seeing her while we were still... _

The brunette opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a loss for words. He closed slowly moved his jaw back to its resting place and watched the other man silently, trying to pass along his inquiries by using telepathy.

_I want to ask, but... I... don't want to know... what if he..._

"We were on a date. She's the one who convinced me to get the rest of my things. She said that leaving my clothes here was subconsciously admitting that I still want to come back." The Spaniard smiled faintly at his ex, but suddenly his entire face fell. "When in reality, I don't ever want to see this place ever again." He marched over to the room they used to share.

The Belgian girl smirked and walked in front of the Italian, effectively blocking his view of the brunette walking away. "Isn't it funny? You always used to make fun of me for trying to get Antonio, telling me that it was hopeless. A lost cause. He was yours and only yours, remember?"

"Piss off," Lovino hissed.

"You waited too long. You thought you could play with his emotions. String him along."

"Go to Hell."

"But really? All this time? It's funny because now, you get to be the one who's alone."

"Shut up! I can do whatever the fuck I want. Who says I can't have him back if I wanted?"

"Ha! That's pathetic. There's no way you two would get back together. After fourteen years you die alone bitch!"

"I'm not a fucking girl!"

"Can you give me a hand please?" the forgotten Spaniard yelled from the depths of Lovino's room.

"Sure!" Bella hollered happily, rushing down the hallway, past the pissed off Italian.

"Don't go into my room, slut!" the brunette yelled, chasing after her. He found her holding a blazer and instinctively tried to take it from her. They had a brief tug of war moment, but Lovino won, sort of. Bella let go, causing the Italian to fly backwards into the wall, along with the jacket. A small box slipped out of its pocket and landed near the brunette. "What's that?" he asked under his breath. He opened the tiny case and saw a silver band. "Is this a wedding ring?" he inquired, turning to face his ex.

Antonio hadn't paid any mind to the arguing going on around him. He picked up the blazer and stuffed it in a cardboard box with the rest of his belongings. He walked over to his ex and looked down grimly. He took the little black box from his hands and examined it. "I was going to propose," he admitted, slamming it shut. "You know, back when I thought you actually liked me. I was just waiting for you to say I love you." He put the ring in his pocket and headed for the door with Bella trailing behind him.

"What do you mean you were going to propose?"

The Spaniard stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder. "If you had ever decided to return my affections, I would've asked for your hand in marriage, simple." He opened the door.

"That's it! You're just going to leave? Just like that?" Lovino questioned, holding back tears.

Antonio took in a deep breath and closed the door, much to Bella's chagrin. "What was I supposed to do? Sit here forever, waiting for you to say three simple words I said thirteen years ago?" he asked, staring at the Italian.

"I shouldn't have had to say it!" Lovino yelled, crying.

"You shouldn't have to say it? And why are you so special? Why are you the one I should wait for? What makes you so entitled? You act like you have a right to everything!" the Spaniard quipped.

"I shouldn't have to say it, because you should know bastard!"

"Know what?"

"I fucking love you, you dipshit!"

"You love me?" he asked in disbelief.

"You're an idiot! Do you know what the last couple of months have been? Hell! They have been a living Hell! How could you do that to me?"

"You missed me? Lovino, I-"

"And a girlfriend? A girl? REALLY?! And you had to choose that whore?"

"It's your own fault!" Bella interjected. "You brought this on yourself!"

"Shut the fuck up! Nobody fucking asked, you cunt!" Lovino snapped.

"I didn't know you felt like that. I honestly didn't think you'd care..." Antonio said.

"Of course bastard! I love you!" he sobbed.

"You what?"

"I can't believe you could just replace me... I thought I meant more to you than that. How... How could you?"

"I got tired of crying! A month. That's how long I spent before I would answer anyone's calls. Replace you? I could never. I just needed to find a way to mask the pain."

"I'm still here!" Bella yelled, bringing the attention back to her.

"Then leave already!" Lovino hollered.

"I'm not waiting for you fuckface," she quipped. "I'm waiting for Antonio," she smiled. "You don't want me to leave, right Nio?"

Antonio said nothing to her, just continued to stare at his ex.

"See? He doesn't want you here either! He's just too nice to tell you."

"The same niceness that kept him here for fourteen years?"

"Bitch!"

"Bella, I think it would be best if you left," Antonio stated quietly.

"What? You don't mean that Nio, unless you want us to leave together."

"Please, now."

"Nio!"

"Bitch, get the fuck out of my house!" the Italian yelled, pointing to the exit. She glared at everyone and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

"Did you mean it?" the Spaniard said, barely louder than a whisper.

"Mean what?"

"You said that you loved me. Did you mean it?"

"Of course. Why would I lie? You don't believe me?"

"It just... why did it take you so long?"

"I wanted to say it ever since you confessed to me, but I didn't want to get hurt again."

"Every time I love somebody, they leave. My parents left, my grandpa died, my brother got married to that potato bastard. Every time I feel comfortable, things change... I didn't want to get comfortable. I didn't want to love you, but then I did... I couldn't control it. I thought if I let myself be happy, then things would change... and they did. You left, and it hurt. It hurt so bad." Tears ran down his face. "I never want to feel like kind of pain again. It hurt more than everything else put together. I felt so 't get all these emotions confused though." Lovino sniffled. "I'm not a girl." The Italian shifted his gaze down to his feet.

"Lovino... what would you do, if I said I still loved you and I proposed?"

The brunette looked back up and smiled. "I would look at you, smile, and decline."

"I thought... didn't you... Don't you want to get back together?"

"Yes, but you can't ask me to marry you."

"You don't want to get married?"

"Of course I want to get married. Keep up bastard, you can't ask me now. Remember? You made a promise to Feliciano." He walked into his boyfriend's arms. "Ask me there. Then I'll think about it." He snuggled into the Spaniard's chest.

_Don't ever leave me again._

* * *

**The End. (I hope you didn't hate the ending. Conclusions aren't my strong point.)**

***Bella is Belguim. I have nothing against her character for the show or manga, but whenever I write fanfiction, she's a bitch. I don't know why. I needed someone to be the bad guy and I chose her.**

**A/N: I really wanted to thank******** to Burlesque Romantique, Colores, kyouno-aru, krikanalo, Haiti2013, animeawsomeness209, Estella Tweak, demoness of music, Equality4Puppies, and Don't Tell Them I'm Not Real for reviewing! You guys are awesome! Thanks for your support! I would give you each a cookie... but I cook like Arthur. :(**


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